Love In Death Is Never Quite The Same (English sonnet)

by Ben Pickard

I understand eternity draws near,
but cannot for a moment quell this ache;
our fading lives mean losing all that's dear -
a tragedy from which we'll never wake.
Perchance our love should sail upon the breeze,
or maybe find a purchase on a wave,
does little for my heart and won't relieve
the physical and tender care I crave.
I often hear them talk of lasting love -
that something pure is never really gone,
but if there's nothing next or up above,
I say this now - they're senseless and they're wrong.
If dark was light then why ignite a flame?
A love in death is never quite the same.

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